


Chocolate-Flavored Compromises

by oneatatime



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23728270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime
Summary: "What if I need the head?" she asked, eyes twinkling at him.
Relationships: Spock/Nyota Uhura
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29
Collections: Flash In The Pan: A Food Flash Exchange





	Chocolate-Flavored Compromises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).



"Nyota. Stay there," Spock said calmly, as he touched her bare shoulder. He felt a flash of her surface emotions from the physical contact (however, it was nothing more than he would have perceived from her expression and kinesics, and of course he would not delve further without permission). 

Interest. Amusement. A sense of a predator, willing to laze for the moment, but ready to prowl as soon as her patience ran out. 

Quite wonderful.

"What if I need the head?" she asked, eyes twinkling at him. She flopped back into the bed, hair artfully and pleasingly disarrayed on his plain black pillows. He had various small ornamentations in his quarters. Nothing in the bedroom, other than Nyota herself. He appreciated her understanding of his needs in this fashion. She pushed him, and pulled him, and forced her way into his life... but one of her demands of him was that he be present. That he should also have what he needed, and should want her to provide such, as well as accommodating her needs. Compromise. 

So there was little in the bedroom. Simplicity was most conducive to rest, although at times Nyota's presence in his bed was the least restful possibiity for an evening.

(And there were times when he grieved, and needed most desperately to wrap himself in her touch, her scent, to lose himself in shared passion with her. He did not always understand her. Far from it. Yet he was always grateful for her.) 

"Cross your legs." 

He was followed by her laughter as he ventured barefoot into his small kitchen, thankful for the warmth of his quarters. Not as high as Vulcan, but somewhat warmer than Earth-normal. Again, a compromise. He would manage in his regulation Starfleet tank top and boxer shorts if it were cooler, but it was pleasant that it was not. 

He removed the gespar fruit from his small stasis unit, split them both deftly, and removed the seed pod from the innards. Then he placed them in two small pottery bowls, black shot through with gold and silver. A gift from his mother. He trickled chocolate fudge syrup over the top, and admired the contrasting aesthetics for a moment. The red of the fruit worked well with the black of the bowls, and the dark brown of the chocolate, and the sweet scent.

Spock padded back into the bedroom with a tray holding the two bowls, and the two spoons.

"Breakfast," he said, as he settled himself onto the bed alongside her. She sat up, adjusting her own tank top, and smiled at him. 

"What is it?" 

"Gespar fruit. Better fresh, but acceptable in this way. My... my mother would often prepare it for me for breakfast, at home." 

"Oh." 

Nyota was quiet for a moment, then she reached out to cup his face. He gave her a not-smiling smile, merely the slightest upturn of the corners of his mouth. He was learning to speak of his mother in this way. It was still difficult.

"Please try it." 

She nodded, taking a bowl and bowing her head over it for a moment. He did the same, then watched as she took a spoonful. Her teeth crunched through the delicacy of the fruit's flesh, and her eyes widened in appreciation.

"It's good. Is the chocolate your mother's choice, as well?"

"Yes," he said, watching as her tongue darted out to lick a little chocolate from the corner of her mouth. He ate a spoonful himself, enjoying the burst of sweetness in his mouth. "Compromise, between my father's culture and her own. A pleasant compromise." 

"Very pleasant," she agreed, and when they were done, he estimated a 97.8% probability that she would pounce on him to share chocolate, fruit-flavored kisses with him.

She proved him, and logic, correct very shortly thereafter. He lost himself gladly in the taste of her and the weight of her body on his.


End file.
